Chapter 9

“Who is it?” he wants to know.

I don’t answer right away, pretending I’m too busy hammering on the shoe. When I’m done and the horse trots off, I stand and wipe my hands on my breeches. Finally, when I can put it off no longer, I admit, “He works at the glasshouse.”

Jeremy must think this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day. He laughs until I think he’s going to fall back on the ground—he’s barely standing straight. “Jesus,” he sighs. “That’s so classic. He’s a glass blower?” That sets him off again.

I gather up my shoeing tools and head back for the barn, ignoring his laughter. He’s starting to piss me off.

But Jeremy doesn’t let up. “So he’s got some great lip muscles, I bet. Blows glass. That’s not all he blows, eh?” He follows me into the stable.

I toss the tools in the corner—God, I want to hit him in the head with that mallet for laughing at me. At David, too, but mostly at me. What the hell is he here for anyway? “Don’t you have anything better to do?”